I Have A Soul
by The Infamous Wootermelon
Summary: Werewolves don't deserve fairy godmothers, love, and pixie dust. They're lucky to have food, air, water, life, and shelter. Well, I'll settle for some fairy godfathers, sympathy, and fairy dust, if it's all the same to you. Oneshot, OOC Remus, dark


_**I Have A Soul**_

_**By: Demonic Psycho**_

_Demonic Psycho_: Bitch-ass motherfucker! has to _stop_ changing their arse-biting site! I can't figure out how to edit my effing bio or stories!

_Disclaimer_: Freddy, Voldemort, Jason, and whatever other Big Baddies you fear will come after you if you make me say _those_ words.

My back hurt, and the rest of my agonised body throbbed with a dull ache. Despondent thoughts drifted across my tormented mind, mini-dementors coming back to give me the snog of doom. Ooh, so scary. Little hooded pussies trying to kiss you because they're so ugly they can't get a date.

Lovely little world, ain't it?

Well, this world was my life. You're welcome to it.

You might want to know why I'm letting you into this screwed up, blurry, black and white movie I call my life. It started when I was younger. Shit. Now I sound like Usher and Alicia Keys.

_It started when we were younger you were mine._

Boo. They only gave false hope that there was such a thing as love. Well, sorry to break the news, but there was no love. At least, there wasn't any for werewolves like me. Normal people like you soaked it all up, and now we had to crawl on all fours, lapping up what sugary-sweet remnants there were left. I could hear the fairy godmother.

"Bibbity bobbety boo! Some for you, some for you, and – oh, dear, a werewolf. I'm sorry, dear, but none for you. My wand's magic is reserved for the _real_ Cindarelly, not a pathetic excuse for a human like you. I mean, sure, you're abused and unloved, just like the em-effing skank, but you're a _werewolf_. Werewolves don't deserve fairy godmothers, love, and pixie dust. They're lucky to have food, air, water, life, and shelter."

Well, I'll settle for some fairy godfathers, sympathy, and fairy dust, if it's all the same to you.

"No, no. You should grow up. Little werewolves don't deserve anything. They're lucky to have –"

I know, I know. We're lucky to have food, air, water, life, and shelter. _I'm_ lucky to have food, air, water, life, and shelter. Just like the Israelites, in the Bible, were sent stale bread everyday by God and were grateful sops for it, I should be thankful for every breath I heaved, every beat my heart, so easily stopped, skipped.

Yeah, well, I wanted more.

I deserved more.

I'm a human being, too, you know.

Or maybe you don't. After all, you're just an illusion. You're just a waterlogged, wrinkled old prune. You're just a creaky, dusty, ancient old relic. You're just a heartless "normal" person, happy to discriminate against people like me.

I'm done with trying to reason with you. You can have this reasonable madness you call logic.

"Werewolves aren't human, they're just mindless, animalistic, savage beasts that happen to sprout hair and pop out fangs every full moon."

"Ooh, Grandma, what big teeth you have."

All the better to kill and bite you with, my dear. All the better to make you this awful, wretched, putrid, inconsequential monstrosity I am, the existence I'm coping with somehow, striving to make better, my dear. All the better to make you understand me, my dear.

Well, I'm never going to give into that. Never. Never, ever, ever, ever. Not in a million-trillion-bazillion years. Not even if I have to kill myself with a tarnished silver dagger and a few, fatal rounds of silver bullets. I'm not going to be one of you, to kick at your lowers, to sneer at those in pain. I'm not going to be like one of fucking you.

So, go on, keep on giving into this reasonable madness of yours.

After all, I'm just Remus Lupin, one of those scummy, below-the-soles-of-your-shoes werewolves.

Well, if shoes have souls, why can't I?

Oh, yeah. It's because I'm lucky to have food, air, water, life, and shelter. I can't have a soul. That'd be _too_ lucky. Too damn fortunate for a werewolf.

Tough luck, people, because I have a soul…

…And it's hurting.


End file.
